


Enough

by swordliliesandebony



Series: DA Kinkmeme Fills [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Dragon Age 2 Act 3, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 14:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7271191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swordliliesandebony/pseuds/swordliliesandebony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for kinkmeme propmpt: "World of Thedas says that Anders never tried to escape the circle for as long as he was with Karl. So one could say... he loved Karl more than he loved freedom.<br/>Hawke makes this deduction after hearing about the no escapes thing from Anders, and feels inferior - he's not sure Anders would do the same for him. Anders notices that something is wrong, and questions Hawke until he confesses what's bothering him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough

"It's just different for you."

Garrett didn't respond immediately, only watched. He had watched Anders pace the room, words tumbling in crescendos, pauses only for breaths while he detailed the horrors of life in the circle. More accurately, he detailed the horrors of trying to escape it. Garrett didn't speak, barely shifted in the bed- the bed he really wished Anders would join him in. The candles cast shadows even more heavily across gaunt cheeks, into a deepening hollow near the base of Anders' throat; they flickered a frantic shadow, looking as though the owner were on verge of collapse. And he probably was. But it was Garrett who asked, who still couldn't quite grasp the importance of the writings. It was Garrett who instigated the rant, and who would listen and try- really try- to understand.

"Anders, sit," he patted the bed beside him, the most chaste such invitation he'd ever offered. No, not offered, it came out more as a command; he probably, deep down, intended it as a command. But he felt a pang of guilt when the shadow became stark on the wall, when shoulders tensed visibly, even in such dim light. So he added, "please?" And he went back to watching, relieved only slightly when Anders finally turned to join him.

"You're right," Garrett wouldn't pretend to be anything but relieved when Anders mounted the bed to join him, then found a comfortable spot nestled in the crook of his arm, forehead rested near the base of his throat. He could feel him relax slightly, just a drop of tension easing away when he slipped an arm around his waist. This was better. This was right. This was how he wanted to spend his evening, far more than hearing Anders relive the sort of horrors he could barely stomach listening to himself, "it was different," he murmured at Anders' ear, pressed a kiss just below the lobe.

"But," he added after a pause, after he ran his fingers along Anders' forearm, "we were both on the run, right? Both apostates. It's not as if you ever really settled in at Kinloch," but there he felt the tension rise through Anders' back again, felt him shift with a new sort of unease. He tried to pinpoint exactly which nerve he struck, what about their shared experience might have brought on the subtle change. Garrett gave a sort of inquisitive grunt, extended his neck so that he could look down at Anders, possibly get a glance at his face.

"It's not that simple," Anders sighed into Garrett's chest, a gentle and moist heat that, given better circumstances, might have been a more pleasurable warmth. Anders hadn't lifted his face though, had in fact buried himself more snug in the breadth of Garrett's chest, "there were times... was a time... I stayed," his voice had dropped low, quieted enough that Garrett felt nearly strained to make out words over the sounds of the house around them, of his own breathing. But he was listening hard now, and a strange buzzing had kicked at the back of his brain. How long had they shared this bed? Had they shared far more? But never, not once, had he any knowledge that Anders ever relented to the templars.

"What?" Garrett might have left the question at that, he was so thoroughly confused- so shocked- to hear it. Maybe it was irreconcilably, honestly, entirely different for Anders. Maybe there was no common ground there, not really. Garrett had learned it all from childhood; you move and you keep moving. You run, you hide, you fight if you absolutely must, but you do not end up in the circle. Every second word from Anders' mouth spoke of atrocities he suffered there. So he had to ask, had to elaborate, "what would ever make you want to stay there?"

Anders' initial response was silence; deep breaths that trembled against Garrett, that might have beckoned the start of a breakdown. So he held a little more tightly, and he touched his lips to loose strands of gold and he waited. Most of all, he tried to make sense of it. There was nothing, nothing Garrett had ever known Anders to hate more than that prison. There were horror stories and night terrors and honest-to-the-maker manifestos born of the time he was locked away.

"Karl," barely a whisper, just a breath, and Garrett understood more than he cared to admit. He swallowed, tried to consider his words. He had always thought- assumed- what? That their connection had been physical? You didn't stow away to another country for a friend with benefits. No, he must have known, must have stayed willfully ignorant. It should have been no surprise, but knives were twisting in his gut and in his chest and it took a great force of will for Garrett to keep himself from physically pushing Anders away.

His response, when it came, was a soft and resigned 'oh'.

And they sat in silence. Garrett, stock still; Anders, shifting occasionally, the comfort apparently fleeing Garrett's arms with that explanation. What, Garrett wondered, was there to say? That he was bitterly, horribly jealous of a man who was dead? That he felt betrayed, never knowing intimate details of his lover's past? How did he explain it, the thought that had once rested constantly at the back of his mind, the one that said he would never live up to love lost?

"You're upset," Anders finally cut through the silence. Garrett was startled, nearly enough to jump at the sound.

"I'm not," it wasn't even a good lie.

"I shouldn't have brought it up," Anders was the one to pull away, to gather himself up out of the embrace and settle at the other side of the bed. Garrett moved a hand to stop him, brief, unnoticed, reflexive. He had stopped watching, couldn't stand to see the hurt, the heartbreak that the mere mention had rehashed. He should have felt guilty, or he thought he should, but instead he bottomed out at inadequacy.

"You still left though," he pointed out, "eventually," what straws was he even grasping at? What point did he mean to make? He chanced a look at Anders, who had turned his head fully toward the wall. There was another silence, one that stretched long enough to be an answer of its own.

"You left when he did."

"When he was sent away," Anders snapped, turning with a start to look at Garrett, "because of me. When they found out," his voice wavered, edging on tears. He seemed unwilling to submit to the rise of emotion, pressed on, "they locked me in the basement. For a year. And they sent him to the worst place they could think. So, I suppose you're right. I did leave again when he did."

"Anders, I'm sorry. I just-"

"You just what, Hawke?" Garrett winced. He physically cringed at the anguished tone, at the name that only still slipped out when Anders was upset with him. And why wouldn't he be? Garrett knew he was being unreasonable, insensitive even. But it hurt, and he couldn't ignore it now. How many times had they shared this bed? How many vows of love had they exchanged? And still, still he failed to measure up. He reached over, made a move to brush the tears just barely visible in the bedroom's dim light. Anders moved away and his hand dropped, slowly. For a time, an eternity, the silence stretched. Garrett watched and he waited. He let Anders wipe his own tears and steady his own breaths and he didn't let himself speak first.

"Listen," Anders spoke through a throat horse, sticky from sobs he hadn't allowed, "it was a long time ago. A different life. It doesn't really matter any more, does it?" Garrett swallowed, he considered the things he should have said- apologies, comfort, sympathy. Anders had relaxed, had even inched closer, lowered arms that were hugged against his own chest. He could have held him, could have -should have- kissed the damp cheeks and whispered it away, saved his own anguish for himself, at least for another night. But he stayed put and he nodded, arms stiff at his sides.

"I guess it doesn't."

"Then tell me what's wrong," Anders was pleading now, turned and kneeling inches from Garrett. His eyes were puffy, lips wet, hair already turned by the pillows in a hundred different directions. And, as impossible as it was for Garrett to ignore the despair, it was becoming even more impossible to hide his own.

"Nothing's wrong," he felt, sounded like a petulant child. He barely tried to hide it, practically dared Anders to push further.

"I know you better than that," Anders reached for Garrett's hand. He had to fight an impulse to pull away, unclench his fist and let Anders take it. He kept his fingers loose, refused to admit that the warmth was welcome, that the touch provided any comfort. He sat that way, Anders' hands around his one, staring forward, making a point not to look at the other. There was no good way to ask, no right way. The right thing to do was plaster on a smile and accept what he had. He loved Anders- loved him in a way he didn't know was possible. And if Anders didn't feel precisely the same, he would find a way to take what he could get. It had to be better than nothing. But he still had to know.

"What if it was me? What if the choice was between me and-" it nearly slipped, he nearly said Karl, the true question on his mind, in his heart. He recovered quickly, "-freedom. Would you stay for me, like you did for him?" He hated the way his throat tightened when he asked, especially hated the look Anders gave him, the hesitation before arms circled and his face was buried in familiar hair.

"Garrett," it was Anders breathing into his ear now, offering kisses against his jaw, trying to quiet his anxieties, "I love you. You know I do."

"That's not what I asked, though," Garrett pushed Anders away, just enough to look in his eyes. Their foreheads nearly touched, the heat between them uncomfortable rather than familiar or even arousing.

"What you asked," Anders paused, chewed at his bottom lip. Garrett was inclined to stop him- he could see a response formulating. A lie? No. If he was going to lie, Anders would have already said it, would have said it without hesitation or redirection. Then what was it? Garrett didn't want to hear; his ears were ringing, maybe he could just pretend...

"What you asked doesn't even make sense. We're both free. Meredith wouldn't dare-"

"Just say it, Anders. Just tell me I'm not worth staying for. Tell me I'm not him."

"You're not him, Garrett," Anders still wouldn't let go of his hand, not even when Garrett tried to snatch it away. And he wouldn't break eye contact. Was he enjoying it? Did he want to see him break? "That was years ago. _D_ _ecades_. I was a kid back then. I'm not him, not the him I _was_ , either," he was still engaging the struggle, still gripping Garrett's hand, and when it finally slipped away, grabbing at the crook of his arm instead.

"But I'm _here_. I'm here, in Kirkwall, watching my people face worse than death. And I'm here with you- for you. I love you. I'm staying. Isn't that enough?"

It was a question Garrett didn't want to answer, a choice he didn't want to make.

"Yeah. It's enough."

It would have to be.


End file.
